The Best Part
by Hera Ledro
Summary: Vinnie goes out on a root beer run, but ends up finding out some things about Throttle. One-shot. Rated K for deep plotline.


_Summary_

Vinnie goes out on a root beer run, but ends up finding out some things about Throttle. **One-shot. Rated M+ for deep plotline.**

_Author's Notes and Disclaimers_

First order of business – Disclaimers. No concept related to or canon in the television show _Biker Mice From Mars_ is owned by myself. The musical scores "Beethoven's 5th Symphony" and "Pachelbel's Canon in D Major" are not owned by me. Same goes for "Stairway to Heaven", which is copyrighted by _Led Zeppelin_. _Monopoly_ is a registered trademark of Parker Brothers Games (or whatever the hell that company is called). I would also like to vehemently point out that Vinnie's opinions on the music in this story are nowhere NEAR what mine are.

Second order of business – inspirations and acknowledgements! While the idea for this fan-fiction came to me in a dream (yes, it really did), it has only been fleshed out because of the stories I have read in the past. I would like to take this time to thank inuficcrzy and Nikata (not a member) for writing their stories, which provided me with some excellent material to modify and adapt. I would also like to take this time to express a HUGE thank you to inuficcrzy who let me bounce ideas off her, as well as gave me some tips on the storyline here. It would be a bit more congested and much more OOC if it weren't for her tips, so big round of applause for her!

Third order of business – a sincere apology. I'm well aware that I've been absent for a long time, and I extend an apology for it. I've been rather busy with several projects, and have found little time to write. In addition, I've been staring at what must be the largest wall of Writer's Block for some time now (omg, it's been at least half a year D= ). It was so bad I couldn't even be **inspired** to write, much less construct outlines and such. So to my readers, a very big, BIG "I'm sorry".

Final order of business – shameless plugs! Unable to write I may have been, but I was hardly unable to read. In fact, I read a great many stories during my time 'away', and I wish to plug (most shamelessly) three authors who never fail to keep my attention and WOW me:

inuficcrzy – I want to plug her in general, but especially her "Shattered, Repaired, Renewed" series. Her "Oh My Biker Gods…" story is likewise to die for ^_^

KLCthebookworm – Everything written by this wonderful woman is indescribably epic, but her "Wars are Won" saga is to die for. Seriously, I almost had a heart attack once through sheer amazement!

GirlyGeek – Don't pay attention to the name, because this author can **write**. I can't plug any specific thing, since ALL her stuff is just too epic for words!

So, without further ado, on to the story!

**The Best Part**

Vinnie rushed up the stairs to the Scoreboard, huffing with indignation and frustration. How could Charley-girl run out of root beer? How could **anyone** run out of root beer?! And leave it to her to send Vinnie to grab some more. Vinnie could beat Throttle and Modo; Throttle was out on patrol, and Modo used the excuse of wanting to finish his Monopoly game with Charley-girl.

At first, of course, Vinnie had vehemently refused the indignant task. Vinnie Van Wham – baddest mammajammer in the galaxy, charmante extraordinaire – reduced to an errand boy! But then Charley did it: that gods-forsaken, thrice-blasted puppy-dog pout. Vinnie had immediately shut his eyes and exclaimed, "Lalalala! It won't work!" But then he peeked, met the eyes, and caved. Charley was quite proud of the fact that nobody – not even the great Vincent Van Wham – could resist her puppy-dog pout. None of the Mice could, even after a good quarter-decade of living near her.

Vinnie's current foul, rushed mood was therefore completely within reason. Or so he believed. Penniless, he could only go back to the Scoreboard and break into his secret stash. _At least_, he groused, _I can check on the radar and call Throttle off his patrol. Practically just came off one myself._

Throttle always took long patrols. Vinnie just shrugged it off, attributing it to the fact that as long as he could remember, Throttle had **always** been very thorough. It was, in the daredevil's opinion, one of the things which made Throttle such a natural leader. It was also one of the many things that contributed to Vinnie's idolism regarding Throttle. He knew he could never be like his leader; it just wasn't him. That still didn't stop from admiring Throttle to the nth degree. He was always so calm, so focused and dedicated. Yet, even in situations that would make any sane individual lose their mind, Throttle would remain cool and collected. Vinnie just couldn't understand it. _But_, he supposed, _I guess that's why I like him so much. Can't always understand everything._ Vinnie paused at the door. He chuckled at his momentary deep thought. _There's my deep thinking for the day!_

Vinnie started towards his corner of the Scoreboard and rummaged behind some pillows and blankets. _Aha!_ he thought triumphantly uncovering his secret fridge. He grabbed a twelve-pack and covered the fridge back up, sauntering back towards the door. He was opening the door when a flash of green caught his eye. He turned to look at it, only to see a thick book marked "Journal #17" lying on the counter.

Vinnie picked it up and started leafing through it. He turned one last page and started reading the neat script:

_January 26__th__, 1995 – Earth Date_

_Aquos 32__nd__ – Mars Date_

_I went to see Manuelo today. Goddess, I can't believe it's already been two years since we rescued him from the Pits. He looks so healthy now, and his kids are so happy! I still can't quite pronounce their names, so I just call them Manuelo Jr. One and Manuelo Jr. Two. They're so big now, they'll be as tall as Modo if they don't stop growing!_

_I know Vinnie would probably hate me for this, but I built some explosives last night. I stopped off at the Scoreboard on my patrol today and picked them up. I tossed them into the Arena area of the Pits -_

"He did WHAT?!" Vinnie cried in indignation.

_- and the blast was amazing! A mix of pyrotechnics and chaos that even Carbine would have appreciated._

_Man, I miss her. We fell apart before the bros and I left Mars, but I can still remember the feel of her fur, the taste of her kiss. But what really scares me is that I don't yearn for them like I used to. I miss her, but I don't love her anymore. I think I'm in love with Charley now, -_

If Vinnie's mouth had been catching flied before, a swarm of them would have fit in there now. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Now he was glued to this.

_- but I really don't want to wreck our friendship, and I can't imagine how Modo and Vinnie would feel if I told them. Modo would probably second-guess everything he thought about Vinnie and Charley, and Vinnie…well, he'd probably flip. Think I was some sort of jack-ass or something. I can't risk my friendship with Charley, let alone the bond I have with my bros. We've been through so much, it would be stupid to risk it all just because I fell out of love._

_Anyways, I'd better sign off now; the bros will be expecting me back from my patrol soon._

_Peace Out,_

_Throttle_

Vinnie shut his mouth with an audible _clack_ of his teeth. He flipped through the pages, astounded at all the entries. _There are dozens of these things!_ Vinnie thought, bewildered. He flipped the book over and re-read the heading. _Journal number seventeen? Holy! He has seventeen of these things? Man, Throttle must have a lot on his mind…_

Vinnie set the journal down and noticed a piece of the wall pushed out slightly. He frowned and pressed against the side with his fingers, pulling as he exerted pressure. A secret drawer slid out of the wall, the interior riddled with more scraps of paper, all of which had various entries of writing on them. Vinnie picked one up and read quietly.

_Knocking_

_Firepower – what is it?_

_Death – what is it not?_

_A way of life?_

_A means of sanctity?_

_Both are a necessity_

_When War comes knocking…_

_Knocking on your door…_

_Throttle_

_ 4082_

Vinnie was astounded, to say the least. Throttle, a poet? Vinnie didn't even know he could write! Vinnie shuffled through the papers, a grin playing across his face as he imagined the teasing potential he had with these. Suddenly his fingers bumped into something hard beneath the papers. He probed further, finally pulling out a little box with a triumphant, "Yeah!"

The little box was what Charley called a 'cassette player', complete with earbud headphones. His grin growing, Vinnie stuck the buds into his ears and pressed the "Play Side B" button. As soon as it finished rewinding, the music started to play. Vinnie almost screeched in fright at the music, yanking out the earphones hard.

Vinnie massaged his ears and ejected the cassette from inside. He looked at the songs. It read, "Side A – Beethoven's 5th Symphony" and "Side B – Pachelbel's Canon".

Vinnie felt sick to his stomach. Classical music! Of all the vile, sickening, and downright evil musical genres! Vinnie tossed the cassette and player into the drawer and pushed it all back into it's wall, shuddering from the implacable melody that was now dancing around in his skull. He walked over to the communicator, set on giving Throttle a piece of his mind, when the tell-tale twang of a guitar caught his attention. Vinnie stopped and listened for another second or two, only to be welcomed by a tenor vocal ringing out from the stadium. _Oh good_, Vinnie thought mischievously, _A wannabe I can throw something at._ A devilish grin crept across his face as he moved towards their window to the stadium, only to stop dead in his tracks as he saw the musician.

Sitting in the stands, a steel-string guitar held in front of a stand lined with sheets of paper, was none other than Throttle.

And he was playing the guitar. He was singing to it. A classical country rhythm pervaded the music, but the plucks, hammer-ons, and other indescribable guitar techniques bespoke pure rock and roll.

Throttle's voice – Vinnie couldn't believe his husky-voiced bro was a tenor! – rang through the empty stadium, making its way to the Scoreboard and filling Vinnie with awe.

"_They say I live in the night,_

_But I fight for what's right._

_I don't give a damn 'bout them._

_But a guy like me has to have a few friends,_

_Some bros to see me through to the end._

_Well there's my little bro,_

_A total, major show,_

_But I'd have nobody else by my side._

_He's my second head, my best man when I wed,_

_Yeah my bro's got my tail to the end!_

_And they say I live in the night,_

_But I just fight for what's right._

_I don't give a damn about them!_

_Yeah, a guy like me's gotta have a few friends,_

_Some bros to see me through to the end!_

_Massive and grey,_

_You know I'd have him no other way,_

_He's got a heart made of pure gold._

_Muscle and bone don't mean you're made out of stone,_

_I know he'll be the one to bring us back home!_

_Well,_

_They say I live in the night,_

_But I just fight for what's right._

_I just don't give one damn about them!_

'_Cause a guy like me will always have a few friends,_

_Some bros to see me through the end…_

_Let's go!_

Vinnie's jaw hit the floor as Throttle went into the guitar solo. At first, he thought, _That is SO Led Zeppelin's "Stairway"_, but quickly abandoned that thought. It was slower, yet stronger. Every twang, hammer-on, and slide was crisp and clean. Throttle's fret hand seemed to be going in slow motion, but the fingers were practically everywhere at once. His right hand was little more than a blur, fingers going up and down the strings as he tore through the solo. And then, almost sadly, the music hit a descendo.

_Well there's a real nice girl,_

_To me she means the world,_

_But I just can't tell her how I feel._

_If I were to do that I'd be a twat and a prat,_

_Yeah I know no good man could ever do that…_

_You know,_

_They say I live in the night,_

_But I just fight for what's right._

_I don't give three damns about them…_

_Maybe a guy like me just needs a little love,_

_His life just needs a little shove…_

The descendo began, the guitar slowly fading out of the music. One final note rang pristine through the air, and Vinnie ducked below the window, sitting down with one leg pulled up. _Did Throttle really write that?_ he thought dazedly. _Did he really mean all that stuff about…about us?_

Vinnie got up and grabbed the twelve-pack off the table. A single thought crossed his mind as pride swelled his system.

_Wow…he's one real talented mouse…_

_

* * *

_

Throttle quavered on his final vocal, allowing his descendo to virtually slide off the guitar. His tenor chords ached from the strain of the song, yet he felt so alive!

He'd noticed Vinnie when he started the guitar solo, threatening to make him lose his concentration. How much had Vinnie heard? How much had he _seen_?

But then a realization dawned on him: trust and acceptance had to be reciprocated. Upon that realization – and it didn't even take a split second for it to invade his mind – a rush of energy overcame him and he hammered the solo. Note a single note was out of place, no finger slid too far, and every twang was synchronized. Perfection, he realized, came out of understanding.

Throttle picked up his eighteenth journal and started writing, a smile playing across his features as he did so.

_October 13__th__, 1995 – Earth Date_

_Terros 42__nd__ – Mars Date_

_I just finished my song for Charley and the bros. I was starting the solo when Vincent showed up. Gods, I almost panicked, but then something weird happened: I came to a realization, and with that realization came a rush of like I've never felt before. I realized that I didn't care if he didn't like it, I didn't care if he laughed at me. Once he left, it dawned on me that I should have trusted him more. You learn something new every day, huh?_

_My father always said that the worst part of the music industry was finding out what your public hated about you. I guess that, since then, I've been kinda paranoid about my talents; I never wanted to get laughed at, never wanted to get jibed. But I just realized something that Pops never got to… Finding out you don't care…now that's the best part._

_Peace Out_

_Throttle_

**FIN**

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Author's Notes

Yes, I'm aware that the song rhythm is out of whack while reading. But that's because songs aren't read, they're _sang_, and if you sing the song along with the tune that goes on in my head, it would all make sense to you. But unfortunately, I can't make a decent sheet music to be put on to accompany that song, so you'll have to just try and imagine the tune D=

Also, I would like to draw your attention to the number that Throttle signed underneath his poem. That is the year on Mars when our calendar was September of 1994, NOT 1995. It was a poem written the year before.

I hope you enjoyed this; reviews and stuff will help me get over this thrice-damned Writer's Block! So please R&R, so I can bring you more stuff!

~Jon


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